


Down the Drain

by killonpaper



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, idk man ive had this scene in my weird little brain for so long, possible future camerashipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killonpaper/pseuds/killonpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles Upshur takes the first shower he's had since he went into Mount Massive asylum, and contemplates the events that transpired there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up Shore Without a Paddle

The cool water ran over his olive skin, washing away the accumulated blood, sweat, and gore. This was the most calm he had felt in what seemed like an eternity, but had in reality only been a little over 6 hours. He thought back to all of the horrors he had seen and experienced. Getting thrown through a glass window from the second story, watching a man die right in front of him, and perhaps worst of all, losing two of his fingers, one on each hand. The memories flooded his mind like a broken dam, and he could feel himself starting to shake, his breath becoming more rapid. He needed to ground himself. He focused on the icy water running through his hair, down his neck, shoulders, and back. His breathing slowed, calming down enough to stop the dam from breaking, for now, at least. 

He held his hands out in front of him, gazing down at the bloodied stumps where his fingers used to be. They had long stopped bleeding, whether from clotting or him running out of blood to lose he wasn’t sure. He ran his long fingers along his bullet-riddled chest, counting exactly eight holes. The wounds didn’t hurt, not even when he dug his fingers into one of them, retrieving the bullet embedded inside his chest. He examined it for a moment, lost in thought. If he were still human, he would have every right to be dead. But he wasn’t, at least, not completely. The walrider was the only thing keeping him going. His breathing was shaky, his voice hoarse. Once the walrider found a new, more suitable host, he would be dead. He could feel it clawing at the back of his mind, hissing in a voice more like static than a real language. He dropped the bullet onto the shower’s floor, deciding not to bother with the rest of them. He wasn’t really alive anymore, so he had no reason to worry about infection. He doubted the wounds would heal up, anyhow. 

Staring at the floor yet again, he watched as the remainder of the blood and gore washed down the drain. Most of it was not his own. He remembered the scrawny-looking man that had tried and failed to leave in his car, and quickly shut the water off. He pulled on some boxer shorts and an old t-shirt before running his remaining for fingers through his wet, black hair. For the first time since his experience in Mount Massive, he looked at himself in the mirror. A man different than the one he knew to be himself stared back at him. The whites of this man’s eyes were almost entirely red from a mixture of sleep deprivation and popped blood vessels. His nose was bleeding, something that he recognized as being one of the many symptoms of being the host. He took a rag from the sink and held it to his nose until the bleeding finally stopped. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes before stepping out of the bathroom, silently praying to a god he now _knew_ didn’t exist that the whistleblower was either still unconscious or had woken up and left his apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles speaks to Waylon face to face for the first time.

As he had hoped, the scrawny, malnourished man was on the couch just as he had been left before. He worried for a moment if he was still breathing, but this worry soon vanished when he began to stir. He opened his right eye slowly, not yet registering his unfamiliar surroundings. His other eye was swollen shut, the consequence of putting up a fight when he’d tried to steal the jeep. Knocking him unconscious was his only option, next to being stranded at Mount Massive. 

The whistleblower, fully awake now, immediately pulled his legs up to his chest defensively, biting his bottom lip in fear and understanding of what the host was capable of. He stared at him, pupil dilated in fear. The host coughed, his feeble lungs shaking as he did, before he spoke.

“I didn’t want to hurt you like that. I needed my car back.” He knew he sounded insincere, but couldn’t tell if it was because of what was now inside him, or because he was now numb from what he had seen at the asylum. 

“Lisa, my boys... They think I’m missing , or worse, _dead!_ I was trying to get back to them, trying to show the world what Murkoff was doing to all those people, but **you!** You brought me to your tiny apartment in some shady place I’ve never heard of!” he snapped back, his pale gray eyes brimming with tears. He blinked them away, bottling up his emotions as he had grown accustomed to in Mount Massive. He blinked again, a look of dull recognition appearing on his face.

“You're Miles Upshur, aren’t you?” Miles blinked at the mention of his name. Since he had become the host, he felt a dissociation from it. He nodded in response. 

“I never got a name from you, whistleblower.”

“Waylon.” He said. Miles nodded again, still not used to making noises other than grunting in pain or screaming in horror. He could sense Waylon’s anxiety towards him as he approached him. He took a seat in a chair beside Waylon, who was still hugging his knees to his chest at the left corner of the couch. Waylon hadn’t dared to take his eyes off of Miles since he had woken up. Part of his lingering paranoia, he guessed. 

“Please, Miles. I need to upload this footage. I need to get home to my family.” Miles didn’t respond, his brow furrowing. He brought his fingers to his temples, closing his eyes and rubbing them as a red-hot pain seared in his head. 

“M-Miles?” he asked, his voice hushed. Miles’ migraine receded just as quickly as it came, and he turned to Waylon. 

“Your nose is bleeding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost certainly going to end up being camerashipping. Good things happen to those who wait. As always, leave a kudos if you like, and feel free to comment with suggestions! Your feedback is really important to me, and kudos lets me know that you're interested and want me to continue. Thanks for reading, and generally being awesome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon asks Miles something about himself.

“From what I’d seen, the variants had similar symptoms to you.” Waylon continued as Miles wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. Waylon’s eyes focused on the many cuts, scrapes, and bruises that riddled Miles’ face, gaining a particular interest in his eyes. They seemed cold and lifeless. He had a feeling that Miles didn’t belong there, that he should by all means be with the rest of the dead men in Mount Massive. Doctors, patients, and security guards alike. 

“What... _happened_ to you?” He asked, starting to trail off before finishing his thought. “Aside from becoming the host, I mean.” In response, Miles pulled up the bottom of his t-shirt, exposing his bullet-riddled chest.

“Shot by Murkoff security. Blacked out as soon as the second bullet hit me. Woke up covered in their gore.” He said flatly. 

“Do they hurt?”

“No.” Waylon moved closer, examining his injuries with awe. Inside each wound, he could see the swarm of nanites flickering around. They somehow reminded him of pictures and videos he had seen of desert sandstorms, but black. Growing uncomfortable of his wounds being observed so closely, Miles pulled his shirt back down and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trying to shut out any feelings of vulnerability he had. There was a long pause, which was broken by the sound of Waylon yawning loudly. Although he had been unconscious for an indefinite period of time, he was still very tired and sore. His eye flicked up to Miles.

“Would it be ok if, before I go home, I take a nap here?” Waylon asked in the middle of a second yawn. 

“Yeah.” Miles grunted. Waylon curled up into a ball on the couch, closing his eyes almost as soon as his head rested on the cushion. 

A sudden thought hit Miles. _It must be freezing in here._ Miles hadn’t been able to tell the temperature of the room himself. Since becoming the host, cold had been the new normal. Getting up from his tacky floral-print chair, he checked the temperature on the outdated thermostat on his wall. Nearly 50 degrees. He adjusted it before retrieving a heavy blanket from his hall closet. He draped the blanket over Waylon, hoping that the weight as well as the warmth would comfort him in his sleep. Miles reclaimed his seat, leaning back into it and letting the static that now substituted for sleeping and dreaming overcome his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing summaries. Can you tell?  
> Short chapter is short. Sorry, it looked longer when I wrote it down. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to suggest things in the comments, and please leave a kudos to tell me you like it! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles awakes to find that Waylon is not where he was before.

Miles awoke to find that Waylon no longer laid on the couch. The feeling of worry surged through him. He didn’t have a vehicle, or any money, for that matter, and he walked with a limp that was no doubt due to his misadventures as an unwilling patient in Mount Massive asylum. Not finding him in the kitchen, he ventured to his bedroom. Waylon was nowhere in sight. He swung open the door to the bathroom connected to his room, and was met with a wide-eyed Waylon, paused in the iddle of winding a rolled-up ace bandage around his breasts. Miles yelped an apology before slamming the door closed, a bad habit of his. He sat on the bed, ruffled his messy black hair, and waited for Waylon to come out of the bathroom. 

After a good while, Waylon limped out of the bathroom, daring not to make eye contact with Miles, who immediately jumped from the bed and rushed to him. 

“That isn’t a safe way to bind, you know.” he said. Waylon shrugged, hugging his arms to himself as he stared down at the floor.

“It’s all they let me have. Plus, it’s the only way I know how.” he murmured. Miles’ brow creased in a mixture of concern and sympathy as he went to his drawer, fishing around in it before producing what he was looking for. He tossed it to Waylon.

“ _A tank top?_ ” he asked skeptically. 

“No, it’s an actual binder. It’s my old one, you can have it.” Miles explained, “Ace bandages crush your ribs.” Waylon turned it over in his hands, inspecting it with curiosity. 

“It might be a little big, but you can adjust it.”

“How do I put it on?”

“I can help you, if that’s ok with you.” WAylon nodded, pulling off his shirt and starting to unwind the bandages. Once he was done, he balled them up and tossed them to the side. After pulling the tank top over his head, he turned to Miles. He walked over to Waylon, adjusting the binder and fastening the hooks to its front. 

“It’s that easy?” Miles nodded.

“The tank top is a little baggy,” Waylon said, “but I guess I’ll grow into it.” Miles smiled at his joke, the first time he had genuinely smiled since before entering Mount Massive. In the very little time they had spend together, he had grown fond of Waylon. He knew he’d miss his company when he left. A pang of guilt hit him as he remembered the fact that Waylon was a married man with two sons, followed by confusion. Did he have feelings for him? Could he even feel that way about someone, after what he had been through?

“Miles, you’re staring at me.” Waylon’s words dragged him from his thoughts, a slight blush crossing his face.

“Sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon both Miles and Waylon as trans so uhhh.... yeah. Hopefully this doesn't run you guys off. Trans Waylon in particular gives me life. Sorry for the day-long delay on this chapter, I was awfully tired yesterday so I couldn't stay awake to write and upload. So, it's longer than usual! I think, anyway. As always, leave a comment or kudos if you like, it tells me that you're interested in me continuing this fic! Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to post more of this once I write it. This might be fluffy camerashipping in the future, but I'm not too sure. All of the character descriptions are based on my headcanons, and mine sort of totally go against the fandom's general consensus sooo... yeah. But anyway, feel free to leave a comment with suggestions. Thanks for reading, I really appreciate it!


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